Heart-Shaped Casket
by SleepingSeeker
Summary: One Shot. Sometimes it's necessary to change oneself before expecting the world to change for you. Irma learns self-respect is the quickest way to becoming visible. Inspired in part by the song 'Give Your Heart a Break' by Demi Lovato.


**Heart-Shaped Casket**

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><p>She sat on the stool, giving him the space she knew he needed whenever he'd be wrapped up in a project. She watched him with rapt attention despite knowing that for the past hour and until his little project was done, he would say nothing to her other than the rare and wonderful request for a tool that remained out of reach, which she'd readily retrieve for him, eager to catch his eye, grinning with what she hoped was a smile that was both seductive and welcoming. But as it was most days, all his tools were prearranged before him; set out carefully across the surface of the metal work table. So, she was left to stare and hope. Which was good enough for her. Just being in his presence was a miracle, really. She was the luckiest girl in the universe.<p>

His goggles were lowered over his eyes and the tip of his tongue poked out of one corner of his mouth as he focused all his attention on welding the intricate pieces of the tiny clasp. The miniature flame burned in a sharp line of blue, illuminating his face and throwing the curve of his toned shoulders in stark relief. Her eyes trailed along them, memorizing every swell and hollow; the razor thin scars that criss-crossed over the right muscle, widening and thinning out, all running down to the balled bicep like a ghostly highway, mapping out the borders of his life's violent experiences. She imagined, not for the first time, how it would feel to run her palms up and over those sculpted shoulders; to pull him towards her; to reach up and ease off those protective goggles so she could be caught and then drown in those chocolate pools; drawing his head down, trailing her fingertips along his jaw as he lowered his intelligent and kind face down until their lips barely brushed. Then she would smile and their kiss would deepen as she pressed herself into the flat planes of his chest, feeling the rapid fluttering of her heart swoon beneath the thundering thrum of his own.

"Donnie, she's here!"

Irma jumped and nearly fell from the stool. She righted herself as Mikey bounded into the room on the balls of his toes. He shot her a grin and laced his fingers behind his head as he strolled up behind his brother and peered over his shoulder. "Aw, dude, is that her present? Lemme see!"

Don carefully turned the delicate tool off and set it in the special brace to keep the heated tip from the surface of the table. Several scorch marks proved he'd forgotten to do this simple safety measure more than once. He twisted in his chair to look over his shoulder at Michelangelo and the thin chain caught the edge of his elbow padding. She lunged forward and caught the jewelry before it fell. She held it up to him.

"Oops," she said with a half-hearted shrug. "You don't want this to fall on the floor."

He didn't notice until Mikey nudged him. He did a double take and then flipped his goggles up and snapped them against his forehead. He squinted at her for a moment as though he'd forgotten she'd been sitting next to him for the past two and a half hours.

"Oh, uh, thanks," he said absentmindedly as he hooked it with one finger and then carefully attached the completed locket, threading the chain through the tiny loop at the top of the metal, hinged heart.

"Nice save, Irma!" Mikey clapped appreciatively and then to Don, asked, "Does it open?"

He practically laid his entire weight against Donatello's shell as he looked closer at the gift over his brother's shoulder. His breath perfumed the space between his mouth and Donatello's with a stomach churning pepperoni, jelly bean and peanut butter aroma. He ignored Don's scowl and wrinkling of his nose. "Like for her to put your picture in there?" he added with a snigger. Donnie rolled his shoulder roughly and knocked Mikey back.

"Yes," he snapped, then catching himself, he corrected, "No. She can use it however she wants. It's just nice to have a receptacle for an image that she'd wished to keep close to her heart. An image of whomever she may choose. Her father . . . a friend." He said with a mumble and another shrug, "Whomever."

Neither boy noticed Irma's face then, a brittle smile frozen in place, but the color draining away with the exchange. They turned in unison as a gruff and all too familiar male voice filled the lair. The hearty greeting boomed and echoed, bouncing into the lab like an unwanted relative shuffling in with luggage and the exclamation that they're moving in. Donnie frowned and groaned, dropping his face into one palm. He looked up and shot Mikey an angry look.

"Hey," Mikey said and stepped back with hands raised in surrender. "I didn't invite him. It was probably Raph. You know how much he loves the guy," he chuckled and covered his mouth, shooting her a quick glance and making a mock kiss-y face between his palms. "True love! I know it when I see it!" He broke out laughing and slapped his thigh.

Recovering from their earlier exchange, her smile warmed to something more natural. "You better not let Raph hear you say that." She wagged a finger in Mikey's direction then adjusted her glasses higher up onto the bridge of her nose.

She'd only known the brothers for little more than a year, but she'd come to feel she understood the family dynamic of this unique clan and every day she fell a little more in love with each of them. One in particular, more than the others. Unfortunately, he seemed intent on being blind to her many hints and painfully obvious attempts to garner any attention from him whatsoever. If his brothers took any notice, no one had said a word to her. She was not much more than April's quirky friend to them. And that was okay, for a while, because it was amazing just having the chance to be part of this unique group.

But then she started to notice how she felt whenever she was around the brainy mutant. The way her heart would pinch if he'd so much as glance at her was the first sign that her friendship for him was changing. It was a gradual development that felt permanent, like a glacier cutting through terrain, leaving the eternal scarring that would forever shape the land behind. The few times he shot her that perfectly imperfect smile, she thought she'd melt. She'd made a lame joke about global warming once and he'd laughed; she'd run into the bathroom to catch her breath and stared into the cracked mirror. _Oh boy, this is trouble, don't get ahead of yourself, girl. He may not even like human girls_, she remembered thinking. How wrong she was! Unfortunately, for her.

She found herself thinking of him constantly. He was so intelligent, she couldn't get over it. He was the smartest person she'd ever met in her life. It was as though his mind never took a break. He was constantly coming up with ideas and inventions to make their humble lives more comfortable. She loved to listen to him talk, whether it was about reconfiguring circuitry for a new security system or upgrades to the Shellraiser's engines and weaponry, she couldn't get enough of his sweet voice, the way it would crack and break whenever April was around made her smile and the first spears of something like jealousy shot through her stomach. His not-so-secret crush on her friend became painfully clear in short time. When she tried to bring the situation up with April, her friend brushed it off as nothing. Just Don being a goof. Irma never thought of him as anything other than a genius with a heart of gold. Because he was wonderful and so _good_.

Not only that, he was sensitive and caring with his family and such a good friend to April. And he really cared for her. It was too bad April didn't notice. Because if he'd shown her that same look, that look with so much tender longing and fragile hope, it would not go ignored. Never. He was amazing. In every possible way. Irma knew if given the chance, he would live the rest of his life knowing just how special he was, how important and wonderful. But if past experience was any indication of the trajectory of this romance, it was doomed from the start.

It had been the same story for her played out over and over, nothing new here. She'd crush on a boy, the boy would not realize that she even existed and then the boy would inexplicitly fall in love with one of her friends who constantly hung around them. How it was that the boys she fell for were blind to all but her own presence, she couldn't figure out. It was a mystery beyond even her cognitive abilities to unravel. Here, at least, she'd thought she'd fallen for someone who's opportunities would be so limited that it simply wouldn't be possible for it to happen again. And yet, here she was, playing second fiddle to her friend. It was more than discouraging. It was downright unfair.

Mikey shrugged and draped one arm with easy comradery over her shoulders, bringing her back to the present. "Too bad it's not true, then Donnie wouldn't have to compete with Casey for April's love," he sang the last word, stepped back from Irma who couldn't help but giggle at his antics. He continued drawing the word out as he interlaced his fingers and stuck his hands under one side of his chin, blinking rapidly then falling into obnoxious chuckling as he twirled on one foot.

Donatello shot him a murderous look and Irma's face fell back to the earlier ashen green. She didn't want to hurt Don's feelings. But the source of his hurt was a prick of cactus spikes in her heart. He coiled the necklace into the small hinged box, lined with velvet and snapped it shut. Deftly, he wrapped the box in a small purple ribbon, tying it into a limp bow. He marched out of the room with Mikey on his heels.

"What? You know it's true. Too bad you can't whip up some potion to make the guy disappear. Nah, she'd just fall for him as the invisible man, then. Sorry, bro."

"Shut up, Mikey."

Luckily for Donatello, Michelangelo's attention shifted to greeting April. "Hey, April! Happy Birthday, girl!" Mikey squealed. "Master Splinter, is it presents time? Wait 'til you see what I got you, April! Oh man, and just wait 'til you see what poor Donnie – OUCH! Not cool, Don!"

Irma took a deep breath and steadied herself. She slid from her seat and entered the room with measured steps. She loved April. Had known her since middle school and had been good friends with her since then. They'd drifted for a time just before April introduced her to the turtles, and Irma learned that April had gone through a lot in the year that she feared their friendship was coming to an end. Once she understood the reasons for April's avoidance, she forgave everything and vowed to never allow April to go through anything on her own again. April promised to never keep secrets from her. Things were good between them. She didn't feel angry at her friend for Donatello's preference, she didn't blame April for not returning that affection. She just wished that things were different. If April would just explain to Donatello that she wasn't interested, then maybe he'd give up and move on. Then, in time, maybe he'd start to notice her a little more. But whenever she broached the topic with April, she grew irritated and changed the subject. Irma sighed. The last thing she wanted was for any kind of fight or misunderstanding to come between her and April. Not even over Donatello. Still, if April would just let him go . . .

"Hey, Irma!"

April waved and she hugged Irma with a warm embrace as she approached the kitchen where everyone was gathered. Several small packages covered the table with a large, oddly shaped cake taking up the center of the surface.

Casey came up behind April and grinned at Irma. He reared back and scrunched up his nose. "Geez, Irma, you decide to move in down here?"

"Wh-What? No. I just . . . I wanted to see if Don, er, if they needed help setting up," she sputtered, tugging at the cuff of one sleeve.

Raphael narrowed his eyes. "You tryin' to say there's somethin' wrong with living where we do?"

Casey's grin widened. He brushed his hand across his face and indicated with a slight nod in Irma's direction. "Nah, Raph. But the smell tends to linger. Phew!"

Irma's face reddened and she eased a little ways away from the table as April sat and Raph and Casey punched each other in the arm and feigned more boxing moves. They stopped as Master Splinter motioned for April to begin opening presents. She reached for the first bundle, wrapped with care. It was from Leonardo.

Inside, she unraveled an oblong light blue scarf that uncoiled and rolled to the floor. The stitches were uneven and a few strands stuck up where he'd tried to weave the ends of the yarn within the scarf to hide where a ball had ended and another began.

April's eyes widened as her thumbs worked along the scratchy knitting. "Leo! It's fantastic!"

Raph frowned and Casey started to laugh behind his hand, barely able to conceal his mirth. "Since when do you knit?" Raph asked in disbelief and something like disgust. All eyes suddenly turned to the young leader in blue.

Leo stood a little straighter, eyes darting around. "April taught me. To help with the, uh, stress. N-Not that I have any, being leader," his face shot to Master Splinter who was regarding him carefully, face blank. "I enjoy the stress of leading! I-I mean," he chuckled nervously, only making things worse, "I don't have any stress! I just like knitting! Well . . . It's relaxing! Not that I need to relax!" He dissolved into more painful chuckling until he finally cleared his throat several times.

"Happy birthday, April," he said quickly and dropped his eyes to furiously study his fingers gripping the back of a chair with light green knuckles, face crimson. The room sat in silence broken only by Casey Jones who continued to guffaw, now on the floor behind April and Raphael shook his head with a sneer.

"Fearless, we gotta talk," he mumbled and turned to give April his gift.

It was hastily wrapped in newspaper and twine. The twine had been wound over and around the package several hundred times. It took April ten minutes to saw through it with the kitchen shears. Leo was still too flustered to offer to cut it for her with his swords and Raph decided that it was a birthday custom for the one celebrating to have to struggle with the present on their own. The longer it took, the better the present it contained, apparently. At least, that's what Raphael continued to insinuate as April wiped the sweat from her brow.

When the outer wrapping was conquered, she dug through the layers of newspaper stuffed into the shoe box, she found at the bottom, a canister of mace, brass knuckles and beneath that, a pink fuzzy journal tied with a black satin ribbon. She lifted the journal from the box, ran her fingers over the soft texture of the cover and ribbon and stared in wonder from it to Raph.

He smiled then shrugged. "Well, yeah. Uh, whatever, happy birthday. You like it, right? It's good to have somethin' to write in. About feelings and stuff. I dunno. Girls like pink. And fuzzy stuff," he added slowly and looked around at the stunned faces staring back at him. He started to get more defensive and continued to explain his choice of the pink journal. "What."

He glanced around at Casey's smirk and Mikey's brows raising higher and higher. Leo continued to blink down at his fingers looking either terribly constipated or lost in deep focused thought and Donatello continued to shuffle from one foot to the next as though he were listening to music only he could hear. Irma opened her mouth to suggest that the gift was a perfect choice, but before she could, he went on.

"Girls like pink, okay? And fuzzy crap and talking about their problems. Am I wrong?"

Mikey could not resist and with a bubbling burst of laughter said, "I guess you'd know, Raphie."

He deftly dropped into the splits as Raph's fist came around and jumped up. He skittered with a yelp around the table. "I'm sorry!" He ran behind Master Splinter then peeked out from behind him. "I hope I didn't hurt your feelings, Raph. Maybe you'd like to write about them in _your_ pink furry journal."

"Enough, Michelangelo," Splinter snapped and eyed his youngest with disapproval.

Mikey immediately clamped a hand over his mouth. "Sorry, Sensei," he said from behind his hand. He studiously ignored his fuming brother and the sound of his teeth grinding as he leaning over and slid his gift to April.

It, too, was wrapped in newspaper, but the paper had been painted over with a thick coating of bright yellow paint. The stench of acrylic paint filled the air around them. As she opened it, the paint flaked and sprinkled the table, her lap and the floor in various sized chips. Some tiny flakes went up her nose and she choked and sneezed. Inside was a stack of index cards. Each had something written on them.

"One free hug. One free game night choice. One free movie choice. One free pizza topping choice," she read and smiled at Mikey.

"Happy birthday," he said and ran over and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek. Donatello stiffened momentarily and then continued to fidget and look a complete nervous wreck. Irma's heart hurt for him.

Master Splinter bowed low and handed April a small rectangular gift. Carefully wrapped in tissue paper, she peeled it away and said, "You didn't have to get me anything, Master Splinter. All the training you've given me has been more than enough."

He inclined his head but said nothing more.

Inside was a silken bookmark. Meticulously penned kanji ran down the length of it. She looked up at him in wonder.

"Treasured one," Splinter said softly.

April jumped up and wrapped her arms around him. The turtles looked on with expressions of happiness touched with sadness as their sensei embraced the girl that had in so many ways come to represent what he'd lost in his life, what he'd once hoped to regain only to lose again. He braced one hand against her head, tightened his hold for a moment and then released her.

"Thank you," she whispered, tears in her eyes as she eased back into her seat.

Splinter merely nodded, emotion had stolen all of his words.

"Wow. That's great," Casey said in his booming voice just as Donatello wavered between stepping forward and ruining the tender moment between his sensei and April and remaining where he was. His face darted towards Casey. He stared at him with a scowl. "Now lemme give you my gift!"

Donatello winced as the boy practically hollered in April's face. April seemed not to notice, in fact, she positively glowed with anticipation. With a wide smile, he produced a small hinged box with a garish polka-dotted bow tied around it. A box eerily similar in size and shape to the one he held behind his back with one hand. His throat grew dry and his palms suddenly became sweaty. His stomach decided to do odd calisthenics and his legs suddenly became weak, as if he were balancing on pasta al dente.

April pushed at Casey with one elbow, playfully. "It better not be an eyeball or something gross like that prank you pulled on me and Irma the other day," she warned and the both of them laughed at the memory.

Irma chuckled and it was forced. They had gone to get ice cream after spending the afternoon studying in the park with Casey. He'd said he found a ring that had the biggest emerald on it that he'd ever seen and before he was going to take it to the police, he wanted to show the girls. They had gathered in close and when Casey opened the box, held right up under their noses, an enormous hideous beetle had sprung out. Luck ever at Irma's side, the creature landed directly on the left lens of her glasses and clung there desperately as she ran in a circle screaming. Much to the amusement of both Casey and April.

"You mean, hilarious prank I pulled on you two chickens," he laughed, but Donatello noticed the boy had immediately grown pink and settled down as April opened the box.

There was a soft gasp. With shaking fingers, April gently removed the locket from the box and held it up for inspection. Her mouth hung open as the engraved roses on the surface of the heart caught the light and sparkled. Everyone cooed with appreciation, impressed. Irma's eyes snapped to where Donatello stood, looking as though he'd just woken up from a terrible dream and wasn't sure if it was really over or not.

"Casey," April breathed.

Raph made a teasing noise and Casey shot him a look that shut him up instantly. Mikey looked from April to Casey to Raph, then as if just remembering, he turned to Donatello. Slowly, he raised his hand to his gaping mouth, the other one rose up to point at his brother. Donatello caught the action and began furiously making signs for Mikey to keep quiet. Mikey started to bounce up and down on his toes. Next to him Master Splinter and Casey were trying to figure out how to make the clasp work to fix the necklace around April's neck. Every time Casey's fingers came into contact with Master Splinter's he jumped and chuckled, doing his best to suppress a shudder.

"Uh, sorry. Um, maybe if you just, nah, nevermind, oh sorry." The boy shivered again.

"Ohhhh, my god," Mikey choked out in one long syllable as Donatello's expression melted from panic to horrified helplessness. He was doomed. Splinter turned to see what was wrong with his rambunctious son just as Irma grabbed Mikey's arm and wheeled him out of the kitchen.

"Mikey, I just remembered something I wanted to tell you about that new comic you were hoping I'd pick up for you!" Her voice rose hoarse and much too high in pitch. But it did the trick.

Instantly distracted, he piped up, "Justice Team number forty-nine!? Did it come in?!"

Behind them, the moment wore on.

"This is . . . beautiful! Casey! What? I don't deserve this! How did you afford this?! This is the most beautiful necklace I've ever been given. I love hearts! How did you know?!"

April went on and on, firing off exclamations and gushing over his gift as she petted the necklace and the heart-shaped locket around her neck. Casey ducked his head and nodded, brushing away her compliments and mumbling how it was nothing really and that he'd been saving for a while and wanted something really special. Because she was so awesome and deserved it. And oh, the best part was that if she looked there was a space inside to put a photo if she was wanting to.

Leo and Raph were admiring the silver locket and the amazing feat that Casey had done by acquiring it with his father heaping on the praise as well as he took first one jellied step backwards and then the next; finding the further he got away from the scene in the kitchen the stronger his legs seemed to become and the quicker he was able to move.

By the time he got into the lab, leaning against the closed door, he was breathless as though he'd just run a marathon. By the time April had left with her gifts, and her friends, never noticing his absence or his missing contribution to her stack of presents, he'd recovered just enough breath to dry heave in the small waste basket under his work table where he huddled in misery for the past hour. A gentle rapping at his laboratory door had him crawling swiftly out from under the table, kicking the empty can back in place with one heel.

"Yeah, come in," he muttered, wiping his chin where a line of spittle had draped itself during his stomach's attempts at cartwheels. He expected it to be Mikey, to rub it in his face how much a disaster this afternoon had turned into. He steeled himself to act as though he was perfectly fine with the situation. He tried to put an uninterested look on his face but only managed to look slightly pained from gas.

Irma walked in, pulling at the cuff of one of her sleeves dangling over her hand. It was a nervous habit that he'd noticed she would do from time to time when she was fretting over some test or achievement she was required to do in gym class. Master Splinter had given her the over-sized sweater to wear over her clothes when she came visiting. The sewers had a tendency to run cold and without fail, she wore it every single time she was down there.

He was surprised to see her, thinking she had left with April and Casey. At least it wasn't Mikey. He straightened up and folded one arm over the other, resting his chin in the crook of his thumb and forefinger, wondering why she was there.

"Uh, I thought you'd gone."

She shook her head and gave him a strange smile that looked more like an apology than anything else. He felt a flash of anger at the perceived pity and turned his shell to her. He didn't need this. Not now. He stared down at the work table where the collected tools of his three days of working on April's gift had been laid out and organized. They seemed to wink at him from under the harsh work light suspended just above. He felt an irrational urge to sweep everything from the surface of the table and punch the brick wall above it. Instead, he poured his irritation out towards the girl he sensed inching her way across the floor towards him.

"You should go," he snapped coldly. He felt her jump. Remorse instantly curdled his anger into something like rancid pudding in the center of his boiling stomach. His shoulders slumped. None of this was Irma's fault. "I'm sorry." He paused and fingered the handle of a tiny screwdriver. "I'm just tired."

"I know," she said and came to stand just next to him.

He shook his head and smiled, but it wasn't pleasant. She caught the bitterness as he flashed his face in her direction for a moment before looking away, staring back down at his tools. She waited. Hoped that he'd open up to her, both afraid to hear what he had to say and knowing that he needed someone to talk to. It would hurt, but she'd be there for him.

"I worked three days on that locket." His fingers curled into loose fists on the table top. He sighed. "It was junk anyway."

"No," she protested.

He waved her response away. "Salvaged sterling that was only a cheap alloy, not the real thing. Rescued from a pile of trash at the dump. Junk. Nothing but junk." He indicated all his tools and the rest of his lab with one hand, not looking at her; his words laced with an unfamiliar bitterness.

She said nothing. Felt a wave of sadness for the situation this brilliant person found himself mired in.

"Still," he shook his head again and tossed the tiny screwdriver down on top of another tool. "Who would've guessed?" He chuckled again but it was hollow. "What could be the statistical odds of this happening? That he'd get her nearly the exact same thing, except . . . not made out of garbage."

"The probable odds? I'd say very nearly improbable."

She crossed her arms and tried to think of something clever to ease his hurt, coming up with nothing. Only wanting to tell him that she didn't deserve three days effort and work, making something obsolete into something delicate and lovely. April wouldn't have appreciated it anyway. He wouldn't want to hear that, though.

He huffed. "Turtle luck," he mumbled.

"What?"

He glanced at her again. "Nothing. No really, I'm sorry. You should just . . . go."

"You're tired," she supplied.

"Yes."

"Of being overlooked. Constantly overshadowed by someone else."

He winced at that and stiffened and she was immediately sorry she'd opened her mouth. The air shifted and there was nothing like comradery in the room between them, nothing that even resembled friendship. She'd blown it. She just had to open her stupid mouth. No wonder she failed time and again at starting relationships. She was supposed to be smart, but it turned out that she was just an idiot. These words, so foolishly chosen, revealed that she knew all about what he was going through. She'd meant them to show that she understood, but instead, they merely served to illustrate his shame, his humiliation and she had to just say them out loud. Her stomach clenched and fluttered and she moved away from the table, pulling at the cuff of her sleeve.

"I shouldn't have, uh, I didn't mean that . . . Ugh. Sorry," she mumbled and he said nothing.

She backed up some more and turned away. Just as she reached the handle of the lab door he spoke.

"Wait."

She turned around to find him standing in the center of the room, holding the box that was meant for April, the box that held the heart locket with a little space inside where he'd hoped in his secret heart that she might place a tiny picture of him inside and keep it next to her heart. Irma stepped forward, staring at the gift that was never going to be given. Except now, to her.

"Why don't you take this? I don't want three day's work to go to waste," he said hesitantly.

She stared at the little box, the angle he held it in reminded her strangely of a tiny coffin, she imaged the tiny silver heart inside as her own locked away within. She weighed what it would mean to accept this from him. What it would say to him about what she'd be willing to accept. What it would mean for any hope of a future with him other than simply one built on friendship, shaky friendship, but better than nothing, right? Right?

She did her best not to think what it meant that he was standing there offering her this gift that was made with loving detail and tender effort; meant for someone else; someone who would not have appreciated it the way she would have had it been given to her under any other circumstance. That he'd offer this to her without a thought of what it was saying as far as what he thought of her. How desperate must she seem?

Tears stung the back of her eyes because a part of her, a very large part, frighteningly huge, wanted nothing more than to take that little box from him and thank him, if only to ease his pain, even if it was just a little, even if it meant causing her a deeper more lasting pain. Humiliating herself for him. But a smaller part, a _stronger_ part knew to resist. And wisely, she listened to that part of herself.

She stepped back and shook her head, once. "That's okay," she managed, barely containing the trembling of her hands. She clasped them into a tight knot in front of herself. "You should keep it. You know, uh, in case she comes back or remembers that you didn't have a chance to give her your gift." Her words were brighter now, they made sense and she felt a surge of pride in herself. She was still being his friend, even through the unintentional hurt that he'd just caused. The unimaginable pinching of her heart in her chest as he stared at her with a slight frown puckered between his brows.

Donatello looked from the box in his outstretched hand to the girl standing before him, processing the scene. And suddenly he blinked and taking a closer look, noticed maybe not for the first time, but more clearly did he see: the soft curve of her cheek, the bright light in her intelligent eyes and the proud posture despite her diminutive size compared to him. And he was ashamed of himself. For being so rude to her, for offering this second hand gift.

And suddenly, he wanted to make it up to her. Wanted to fix what he'd just done without a thought to her feelings. Something stirred in the corner of his mind and he seemed to recall that she'd spent the last three days offering him her company and assistance. That she seemed to always be there when he was working on something important and was never a bother or annoying, but actually intelligent and quick witted. In fact, he realized with a sort of shock, it was kind of nice when she was around him.

She was turning away again and he said, "I-Irma," she paused and he licked his bottom lip. "Maybe sometime you'd like to, I dunno, hang out or help me plot some algorithms or something?"

She thought about it and considered how his offer made her heart leap, but kept her head cool and calm. It was a new sensation that had overcome her. A feeling of stepping onto an unknown and undiscovered country within herself. She felt . . . empowered for the first time in her life. She gave him a slight nod and turned to look over her shoulder.

"Maybe," she said carefully, knowing he'd need time to get over April, but not wanting to reject the offer outright. She smiled as he dropped the hand offering the box to her and it was full of hope and warmth. "Yeah. That would be great. I'll text you."

"Okay," Donnie said and watched her turn away and exit his lab with his head slightly tilted, wondering about the girl who up until now seemed to be an extension of April and not her own separate entity, and that somehow, something had shifted so that she was her own person. Someone that Donatello decided he'd like to know.

Irma crossed the lair with long strides, waved goodbye to Mikey and Raph who were playing a video game. Some strange confidence had taken root within her. It buoyed her along through the tunnels to the exit above. As the late afternoon sunlight struck her face, warming it, she knew it was the end of something, but the morning would bring the beginning of something new. Fresh.

She was done being the invisible one, the second choice, the afterthought. She was worth more than that and so was he.

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><p><strong>AN:** I just wanted to write something nice for Irma, a character that always irritated me. I hope I gave her some substance.


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